


Christmas is for La Familia

by AndraB74



Category: La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Happy Ending, Heist, Nairobi POV, Nairobi lives, Next-Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:41:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25412566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndraB74/pseuds/AndraB74
Summary: "'We’re going to rob a bank?' asked the curly-haired girl nervously. 'Isn’t that dangerous?'The girl with the glasses shook her head.  'Not a bank,' she said, a gleam in her eye. 'We’re going to rob our parents.  We’re going to do it on a day when they’re all gathered together, not watching us – we’ll swoop in and we’ll flip the script.  We’re going to spend the next two months planning.  Then on Christmas day, we’ll make our move.'The gang celebrates Christmas ten years after the Bank of Spain heist -- Nairobi got out alive, and everyone gathers together for a celebration of family...only to be interrupted by a heist from the youngest members of the family.
Relationships: Bogotá/Nairobi | Ágata Jiménez, Denver | Daniel Ramos/Mónica Gaztambide, Helsinki | Mirko Dragic/Palermo | Martín Berrote, Raquel Murillo/Professor | Sergio Marquina, Rio | Aníbal Cortés/Tokyo | Silene Oliveira
Comments: 26
Kudos: 91





	1. Chapter 1

_Prologue_

The ocean waves crashed around their feet as the group of children gathered together furtively. 

“Here’s the plan,” the girl with the glasses started. “You know how our parents get to tell us what to do?”

They all nodded.

“Why is that?” the girl asked them, looking around expectantly.

“Because they’re grown-ups,” piped up the youngest, a girl around five.

“Because they can ground us if we don’t,” said the oldest, a boy around twelve.

“No,” the girl with the glasses shook her head. “Think about it: why do they set the rules?”

“Because it’s their house,” the curly-haired girl offered.

“Yes,” the girl with the glasses said emphatically. “And why is it their house?”

“Because they bought it with their money,” the twelve-year-old boy said.

“Exactly!” the girl with the glasses said exuberantly. “Because they have the money. Money is power, and since our parents have the money, they have all the power, and they get to set the rules. But we all know how they got that money, right?”

“They took it from Spain,” said another girl, with dark hair and olive skin.

“They didn’t just take it,” the girl with glasses said. “They performed a _heist_. They outsmarted everyone else, so they got to take the money, and now it’s theirs. So that’s what we’re going to do.”

“We’re going to rob a bank?” asked the curly-haired girl nervously. “Isn’t that dangerous?”

The girl with the glasses shook her head. “Not a bank,” she said, a gleam in her eye. “We’re going to rob our parents. We’re going to do it on a day when they’re all gathered together, not watching us – we’ll swoop in and we’ll flip the script. We’re going to spend the next two months planning. Then on Christmas day, we’ll make our move.”

****

_Chapter 1_

_Christmas Day, 2029 – 4:00 PM_

A warm, salty breeze wafted in from the ocean as Nairobi carried plates out to the grand terrace that lay between their home and the beach. Fairy lights hung from the palm trees, lending a soft glow to the large table that had been set up for the festivities.

Three children were still splashing around in the large pool, shrieking and laughing. The oldest, Ibiza, was making a show of doing fancy jumps into the deep end of the pool, while her brother Mykonos splashed water at his younger sister, Havana. 

Nairobi sighed. “ _Changuitos_! Your cousins will be here soon, get out of the water.”

“Mama,” Mykonos whined. “Can’t they just come in the pool with us?”

“You heard your mother,” said Bogota, who had just come out onto the terrace carrying several wine glasses. He set them down on the table. “How many are we?” he asked Nairobi.

“Twenty,” Nairobi confirmed.

“Oof,” Bogota said, shaking his head. “When did there get to be so many of us?”

“Rio’s parents are visiting,” Nairobi reminded him. “And that includes all the kids. I set up a table inside for our three, Olivia, Cinci, and Montreal, but Paula’s going to join us out here.”

Bogota nodded as he uncorked a bottle of red wine. As Nairobi laid out the plates, he poured two glasses, handing her one.

“ _Salud_ ,” he said, and they clinked glasses, meeting eyes. Bogota’s crinkled merrily as he looked at his wife of ten years. Dressed for the holiday in a long dress printed with splashy red flowers, Nairobi still had the same remarkable energy and spirit as always. She had been the one to insist, after the second heist, that whatever other rules or plans the Professor had laid out, that this time, they’d all stay together. “You all are _mi_ _familia_ ,” she’d asserted passionately. “No lonely islands. That’s what ruined things last time.”

Surprisingly, the Professor had agreed. In fact, in a heartfelt speech, he had admitted that the one thing he hadn’t understood going into the first heist was that personal relationships don’t weaken a team – they strengthen it. “In the Mint, you all nearly killed each other at some point,” he admitted. “You didn’t feel personal ties to each other back then. I did my job too well. The only reason you all got out of the Bank of Spain alive is because you stopped working against each other and started working as a team. That was my mistake. I won’t make it again.”

And so, rather than scattering across the globe, they had all settled down together on a remote strip of beach on the pacific coast of Costa Rica. Five beautiful houses, side by side on the beach, separated only by narrow strips of jungle.

In the first house, the Professor, or Sergio, as he asked them to call him now, lived with Raquel, as she preferred they call her. With them lived Raquel’s mother, Marivi, Paula, now nearly twenty, and Sergio and Raquel’s daughter, Olivia, who had just turned nine. These days, Sergio directed his talent for crafting complex plans into writing crossword puzzles, which he submitted anonymously to newspapers around the world. Raquel was his puzzle tester, and the two could spend hours pouring over a dictionary together. It was odd, but it seemed to make them happy.

In the second house, Denver and Stockholm lived with Cincinnati, who was now twelve years old, and their second child, a girl – eight-year-old Montreal. Denver spent his days fishing with Rio on their yacht and taking on ambitious home improvement projects with varying degrees of success. Stockholm, for her part, had become a celebrated writer under the pseudonym “Valencia Castillo,” publishing a popular series of crime novels without ever being seen in person. 

In the third house, Helsinki and Palermo lived happily together with their two cats, Lima and Tirana. It had taken them time to adjust to being each other’s companion, but with Helsinki’s gentle encouragement, Palermo had learned to love again in a healthy way. After years of being contented lovers, they had finally married four years ago, in a beautiful beach ceremony. Now they spent their days sketching, drinking Sangria, and entertaining the others’ children, with whom _Tio Helsi_ was a perennial favorite.

In the fourth house, Tokyo and Rio lived together. They hadn’t always been happy – for years, there had been tension because Rio wanted a child, while Tokyo didn’t. But they claimed to be past that now, and seemed happy together. Rio had taken over the task of schooling the group’s children, with help from Stockholm, and made a surprisingly effective teacher. To contain her restlessness, Tokyo had taken to riding, and they now kept a stable of horses, whom Tokyo looked after lovingly. 

And in the fifth house, Nairobi and Bogota lived with their three children – nine-year-old Ibiza, seven-year-old Mykonos, and five-year-old Havana – and their dog, a local rescue mutt named Cairo. These days, Nairobi got her adrenaline fixes from surfing and riding motorcycles with Bogota instead of large-scale heists. After reaching out to Axel and explaining her situation, he had finally come to visit her when he was sixteen. After that, he started visiting more regularly, for summer holidays or school vacations, to spend a week or two taking surfing lessons from his mother. Now 19, he was enrolled in university in Spain, and wrote to Nairobi regularly. She missed him, but her pride at having a son in university outweighed her sorrow. 

Beyond the fifth house, in an enclave carved out of the jungle, they had built a memorial: three stones, lovingly carved, laid side by side. Berlin, Moscow, and Oslo. They were always surrounded by a fresh bouquet of tropical flowers.

“ _Salud_ , _mi amor,_ ” Nairobi agreed, clinking her husband’s glass. As she brought the glass to her lips, he snaked a hand around her back, settling it just below her waist and giving a little squeeze.

Nairobi smiled at him teasingly, her dark eyes dancing. “Three kids later, and you still can’t get enough, ay?”

Bogota laughed, pulling her in towards him and landing a kiss. She caught his mouth in hers, kissing him slowly and deeply, with the same passion and sincerity as that first kiss so many years ago. 

Though they had teased each other about marriage while inside the Bank of Spain, back then, neither of them had ever known for sure that they would live to see another day. All talk of the future had been just a little game, a nice fantasy. 

Then the day they arrived in Costa Rica, fresh off of a transatlantic boat ride and a cross-country transport, they stood on the beach watching the sun set over the water, and suddenly Bogota had knelt down. He surprised her with a ring welded from the gold in the Bank of Spain. He’d been carrying it, he’d told her, since the day after that first kiss, just waiting until the moment seemed right. 

“Agata,” he’d started, but she shook her head. As his face fell, she hurriedly corrected him.

“Not Agata. Nairobi. I want to stay Nairobi.”

He paused. “Nairobi.”

She nodded, beaming. “Go on.”

He took her hands in his, both her good right hand and her bandaged left hand. “I’ve never met a woman like you, Nairobi. Never in my life. I don’t know if I’m what you’re looking for, but I promise that if you let me, I’ll stay by your side for the rest of my life.”

Tears welled in Nairobi’s eyes as a smile broke across her face.

“Nairobi. Will you marry me?” he asked, squinting into her eyes.

Her right hand went to her face as tears started streaming down her cheeks. “Si,” she said, nodding vigorously. “Si.” 

He slipped the golden ring into her palm. “I don’t know if it will fit on the right finger,” he admitted.

It didn’t – Nairobi’s left hand had been badly disfigured by Gandia’s bullet, and was still heavily bandaged. But that didn’t matter. Pulling him up from the ground, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. 

They’d had the wedding three months later, on the beach in Costa Rica. Sergio officiated, and Tokyo was the maid of honor. Then they sang and danced and ate and drank for hours. And ever since then, both Nairobi and Bogota wore slim gold rings around their necks smelted from the Spanish national reserve.

As Nairobi and Bogota pulled apart from their kiss, Nairobi’s attention was diverted by another large splash coming from the pool.

“ _Ay! Changuitos! Ahora!_ ” she yelled impatiently.

Her children started muttering, but they all pulled themselves out of the water, wrapped themselves in towels, and walked towards the house.

“Go dry off and put your nice clothes on,” Nairobi directed them.

“Do I have to wear my jacket?” Mykonos whined.

“ _Si, mi cielito_ , it’s a holiday. The whole family is coming. Put on your nice shoes and your jacket like I laid out.”

“I don’t want to,” he complained.

Bogota whacked Mykonos lightly upside his head. “Respect your mother. She didn’t survive a sniper bullet to the chest just to give birth to your whining.”

Mykonos sulked, but followed his sisters inside obediently, and Nairobi continued preparing for her guests to arrive.


	2. Chapter 2

_6 weeks earlier_

“Okay,” said Olivia. “The important thing is going to be to make sure we have time on our side. That means making sure the grown-ups give us plenty of space on Christmas once we’re all together. I’ve been thinking about it, and the best way to do that is to let them know we’re planning a heist.”

The rest of the children looked confused.

“Won’t they try to stop us?” Cincinnati asked.

“Yeah, why would we tell them?” Mykonos agreed.

“Because they won’t think it could be a real threat,” Olivia explained. “They all think we’re just dumb kids. This way, if anyone comes to check on us, we can tell them to go away because we’re planning a heist. They’ll think it’s cute.”

“So our cover for the heist is…planning a heist?” Ibiza asked skeptically.

“Exactly!” Olivia said. “This way, we can move all of our stuff in right under their noses.”

“What stuff?” asked Montreal.

“The things we’ll need for the heist. Jumpsuits, water guns, handcuffs. And Montreal and Ibiza, you’ll both need to make sure you find a good hostage item. Paper or suede are best. And make sure it’s something they _really_ care about.”

_****_

_Chapter 2_

_Christmas Day – 5:00 PM_

Over the next hour, Nairobi and Bogota finished their dinner preparations as their guests slowly arrived. First was Tokyo and Rio, along with Rio’s parents, who introduced themselves hesitantly as Francisco and Carmen Cortes. 

“They hate me,” Tokyo told Nairobi confidentially, having followed her into the kitchen to offer help. Now forty-two, Tokyo still looked wonderful, but like Nairobi, she had lines around her eyes that didn’t used to be there. On the other hand, 31-year-old Rio was still in his prime.

Nairobi gave her a sympathetic look as she arranged a plate of meats and cheeses. “Oh, _cariño_. What did you expect? It will take them time to adjust; coming here is a big step for them, no?”

Tokyo shrugged, but she seemed quiet as she pet Cairo, who had been sitting patiently in the kitchen hoping to catch some scraps. “I saw him looking at Paula the other day,” Tokyo said quietly as she tossed a piece of ham to Cairo, who gobbled it up gratefully.

Nairobi made a noise of disgust. “He should be ashamed. She’s a child.”

“She’s the same age he was when we got together,” Tokyo reminded her.

“It’s different,” Nairobi argued. “He’s known her since she was ten.”

Tokyo shrugged. Nairobi sighed. “Hey, look at me, eh?” she said, touching her friend’s arm. “Look at me.” Tokyo looked into her eyes. “You are beautiful,” Nairobi told her. “Look at you! Your skin still looks like a baby’s ass. Your boobs still stay up like magic. And you know what else? Even if you looked like a banshee, Rio loves you. Not because you’re hot, but because you’re _Tokyo_. Si? Because you have a beautiful spirit, and because you love big. You stormed the fucking Bank of Spain for that boy. And he’d have done the same for you. In an instant. So it doesn’t matter who he’s looking at, okay? What matters is that at the end of the day, he’s madly in love with you. And you and I both know that’s true.”

Tokyo smiled and gave her a hand a squeeze. “Okay, okay,” she said. “Let’s bring these plates out, no?”

Nairobi shook her head and followed her friend out to the terrace.

The next to arrive were Helsinki and Palermo, who rode up the beach on ATVs whooping merrily. 

“ _Feliz Navidad, mi amor_!” Nairobi kissed Helsinki hello on each cheek, taking the bottles of cava he handed over.

“ _Tio Helsi_!” came several cries, as the kids ran outside, finally dried off and dressed in their holiday finery. 

Helsinki caught Ibiza and Havana in each arm, scooping them up into a giant bear hug. 

“And Palermo!” Nairobi greeted the other man, kissing his cheeks as well. He surprised her only slightly by leaning in for a full hug. Nairobi smiled and gave him a squeeze.

About a month after the Bank of Spain, Palermo had surprised her by apologizing. He’d come up to her one night, asking if she’d be willing to chat – and, after a long pause, his shoulders had sagged.

“I don’t deserve to be here,” he’d said miserably. “I was a piece of shit to all of you. And especially to Helsinki. I know that’s why you hate me, and I can’t say I blame you.”

Nairobi had sighed. She _had_ hated Palermo; he wasn’t wrong – they’d been bickering ever since Florence, and after he had casually referred to her and Helsinki’s lives as “collateral damage,” she’d found it hard to speak to him without disgust creeping into her voice. But she sensed that he was trying to make amends and steeled herself to give him a chance.

That was the beginning of what had eventually blossomed into a friendship between them. Years of pining for a man who would never truly love anyone but himself had made him bitter and guarded. Nairobi understood that – she’d kept her own guards up for years as well. But Helsinki had knocked down both of their walls with his gentle patience and care. With Helsinki’s encouragement, Palermo had found the courage to love and be loved, and he no longer seemed to find it quite so necessary to play the asshole just to avoid being wounded.

“You’re good?” Nairobi asked him gently.

“ _Si, se_ _ñora_ ,” he said with a smile. “ _Feliz Navidad_.”

Then Denver and Stockholm arrived, with Cincinnati and Montreal in tow. 

“ _Feliz Navidad!_ ” said Denver to the group, dancing animatedly. 

The two kids immediately ran off with their cousins, jabbering about some kind of plan.

“They’re planning a heist,” Stockholm rolled her eyes, handing Nairobi a large bowl of artichokes.

Nairobi immediately started laughing. “Who’s the mastermind of this one?” she asked. “Definitely not one of mine.”

“Cinci claims it’s him,” Stockholm said. “But we all know it’s got to be Olivia.”

And at just that moment, Sergio and Raquel’s daughter, Olivia, appeared through the jungle, carrying a box that was nearly as large as her, and grinning at everyone through her oversized glasses. A few moments later, she was followed by Sergio, Raquel, Paula, and Marivi.

“Hello, everyone,” Sergio greeted them. “ _Feliz Navidad_.”

“PROFESSOR!” they cried in unison.

“Like I’ve said, you can call me Sergio now,” he reminded them, the same way he always did. They ignored him, the same way they always did. Sergio and Raquel were the only ones who had chosen to go back to being called their given names – like Nairobi, the rest of the gang decided to take their new identities with them into their new life. After all, they were the only names they’d ever called each other by. Nairobi said their city names were a sign of family, the same way normal families shared a surname.

“They’re planning a heist,” Raquel informed the group, as Olivia ran off to join the other kids, taking the large box with her.

“We heard,” Nairobi laughed.

“Do you know anything about this?” Rio asked Paula, also laughing.

Paula shook her head. “If I did, I wouldn’t say,” she said, smiling. Nairobi watched the interaction skeptically. She would beat Rio’s head in if he ever made a move on Paula. Fair, she wasn’t a child anymore – but she still had that lanky teenage look, all arms and legs. Nairobi sighed, raising her eyebrows slightly.

But then she noticed Marivi holding a dish and looking lost, and went over to help her. “ _Hola_ _abuela_ ,” Nairobi kissed Marivi on each cheek. “You remember me?”

“You’re Raquel’s friend,” Marivi remembered, smiling. She seemed disoriented, but happy.

“Si, si, very good,” Nairobi responded, glad that Marivi seemed to be having one of her better days. “And you brought _turrón_! Marvelous. Thank you, _abuela_.”

Nairobi carried the confection over to the dessert table, where she set it down between the marzipans and the sweet bread.

Just then, Bogota walked out carrying a raw suckling pig. Stockholm winced as he set it down by the large outdoor fireplace. As the other men all wandered over, they began a lengthy discussion regarding the logistics of the spit and the fire – the appropriate fire starters, temperature, and spit height for properly roasting the pig. Each man seemed to be very interested in contributing his views.

Meanwhile, Nairobi poured each of the ladies a large glass of cava, and they settled down on the terrace to enjoy the show.

“None of them have a clue what they’re doing,” Raquel observed.

“No, not a clue,” Stockholm agreed.

“Literally no idea,” Tokyo added.

Nairobi snorted, deciding that the fact that her husband actually did know his way around a fire wasn’t the point at the moment. So she joined in their heckling, and for the next hour, as the sky darkened, the four of them sat drinking and laughing together while the scent of roasted pig filled the air. 

Eventually, Stockholm stood up. “I’m going to check in on the kids,” she said, and Raquel and Nairobi thanked her and asked her to report back.

When she returned ten minutes later, she rolled her eyes.

“They’re all holed up in Ibiza’s room planning their heist,” she told them, smiling. “They would barely even open the door for me. But I heard a lot of laughing, so I assume they’re all fine.”

By late evening, someone had pulled a stereo out onto the terrace, and as they all made the final dinner preparations, the four women started dancing around the terrace, laughing and drinking.

As the song changed to a sensual dance number, Nairobi reached out for Tokyo’s hand, and laughing, pulled her in to dance. “With me, _mi amor_ ,” Nairobi told her merrily, and the two women began laughing and swaying their hips together, arms clutching onto each other.

“I hate to interrupt,” came a voice, “but she’s with me.” A hand landed on her waist as Nairobi turned to Bogota, who was smiling.

“All yours,” Tokyo laughed, grabbing Raquel’s hand instead.

“Hello, my big handsome,” Nairobi said.

Bogota kissed her forehead. “The pig is nearly ready, _mi amor_. And the lobsters are boiled.”

Nairobi clapped her hands together. “Alright, _vamos_. You’re in charge of getting the food set up out here. I’ll get the children set up inside.”

Nairobi and Stockholm spent the next few minutes chasing down children and directing them to the airy dining room, where the table had been festively set for six. 

“ _Ahora!_ ” Nairobi called Ibiza, who was lingering in the living room. “Okay, grab your plates and we’ll get you all dinner,” she directed the children. “Then after dinner, you can choose a movie, _si_?”

They murmured assent, and Nairobi guided them into the kitchen and started helping them load their plates.

“I don’t want lobster,” Havana repeated for the third time.

“I know, _nena_ , you don’t need to eat the lobster,” Nairobi said again, taking her daughter’s plate and piling it with rice and ham. “Look at this,” she said, displaying the plate to Havana. “Is this good?”

“That’s good,” Havana agreed.

“Okay, very good,” Nairobi said. “Now would you like a ju – Myko, put that down or I will have your head!” she directed her son, who had plucked one of the boiled lobsters from the counter and was waving it tauntingly at his sisters.

He giggled, but put the lobster back.

Eventually, the children settled down to eat their dinner, and Nairobi and Stockholm headed back outside.

The table had been laid magnificently with lobsters, prawns, rice, soups, vegetables, and of course, in the center of the table, the roasted suckling pig.

Nairobi took a seat between Bogota and Tokyo.

“I would like to make a toast,” Sergio said, standing up. 

Everyone raised their glasses.

“To family,” Sergio said. “To this family. When I brought you all together, I will admit, I didn’t know what that word truly meant. I had family, of course: my father, and my brother. May they both rest in peace. I was no stranger to attachments. But I saw those attachments as a weakness, a liability that could be exploited in a heist. But now,” he glanced at Raquel, “Now I know that they can also be a source of strength. Family is there for you. It gives you a reason to keep going. Love can lead to stupid decisions, but it can also be a source of great courage.”

He looked around the table, his eyes coming to rest on Tokyo. Rio’s arm was draped around her chair as she smiled, her wine glass still in the air. “If Tokyo hadn’t loved Rio,” Sergio continued, “would he be here today? Or would he still be sitting in a cell somewhere, beaten and tortured?”

Rio nodded, looking at Tokyo appreciatively. They smiled at each other.

Then Sergio turned to Denver and Stockholm. “If Stockholm hadn’t loved Denver, would he be here today?” he questioned. “Or would Arturo have shot him in the Royal Mint?”

“Fucking Arturito,” Denver shook his head, as Stockholm squeezed his arm.

“If Helsinki hadn’t loved Palermo,” Sergio continued, “would he be here today? Or would he have been hit by a sniper as he tried to leave the Bank of Spain?”

Palermo looked down, and Helsinki put a large hand on his shoulder.

Then his eyes moved to Nairobi and Bogota. Nairobi felt her husband’s arm come around her. “If Bogota hadn’t loved Nairobi, would she be here today?” Sergio asked seriously. “Or would Gandia have put a bullet through her head before Bogota had a chance to get him first?”

Nairobi shifted, leaning into his arm and reaching her hand up to his to give it a squeeze of appreciation. He kissed her temple.

Then Sergio continued, looking down at Raquel, sitting next to him. “There’s one thing I know for certain. I would not be here today if Raquel hadn’t loved me. She had a thousand reasons to turn me in, and only one reason to help me. But she chose the one.”

Raquel smiled.

“Family makes us stronger,” Sergio said. “And I’m proud to call each of you a part of my family.” He paused. “ _Salud_.”

“ _Salud_ ,” they all chorused, clinking their glasses and drinking.

Then Nairobi smiled, lifting her arms. “Let’s eat,” she declared.

Dinner wound on for hours, long after the roasted pig had been picked to shreds and their plates had been filled and then emptied twice over. They sat together, laughing and reminiscing and telling stories of their heists for the dozenth time. They had a fresh audience in Rio’s parents, and so everyone found themselves narrating their favorite moments – the time Tokyo played Russian roulette with Berlin, the time Sergio snuck into a hospital by dressing as a clown, the time Palermo tried to stroll out of the Bank of Spain carrying a briefcase full of muffins, the time Raquel jumped off a helicopter and entered the Bank of Spain right under the police’s nose. It was curious, really, how moments that had been so full of tension, anger, and fear could be looked back on with such humor and fondness.

“This is beautiful, no?” Tokyo asked, leaning over to Nairobi. Denver was animatedly telling the story of how he and Stockholm had met. They’d all heard the story a thousand times, and so Nairobi leaned back and looked around her. The sky had darkened, and the fairy lights gleaming above them blended with the shining stars, giving everything a warm, yellow glow. Nairobi breathed in, a deep breath filled with fresh sea air and good food and soft smoke from the candles.

“Yes,” she agreed, her face breaking into a smile as she looked back at Tokyo. “It’s beautiful. It’s just how I always imagined.”

Then suddenly, Nairobi heard a loud, blaring beeping sound coming from the house. She looked at Bogota in concern.

“The fire alarm,” he said, immediately standing.

Nairobi jumped to her feet as well, and the two of them hurried towards the house. Unsurprisingly, the others got up as well, following them inside.

They hurried through the kitchen into the dining room, where the children’s Christmas meal had been abandoned, and then into the spacious grand living room. There, they found Mykonos, standing on a ladder, wearing a small red jumpsuit, and holding a smoking pan up to the smoke detector.

Nairobi sighed. 


	3. Chapter 3

_2 hours earlier_

“That’s the last of it,” Montreal reported breathlessly, adjusting the large, vacuum-sealed roll of bank notes in her arms.

“I can take it,” Cincinnati said, taking the large roll from his little sister. Her arms sagged gratefully.

They were standing outside their home. The house was quiet, empty, the only sounds the rustling of the palm trees and the soft singing of the cicadas.

“I’ll lock the vault,” said Montreal, heading back into the house to go close the door to the basement vault.

Each house had one – custom built, installed into the foundation behind a trick door. Waterproof, earthquake-proof, and nearly impossible to break into.

So having the codes made things much easier.

Meanwhile, Cincinnati carried the last roll of bank notes past tío Helsi and tío Palermo’s home to the stables behind tío Rio and tía Tokyo’s house.

There, Olivia was waiting with a ladder.

“That’s the last of it,” Cincinnati told her.

“Perfect,” said Olivia. She pulled out a walkie talkie. “Ibiza?” she asked into it.

There was a fuzzy white noise, and then Ibiza’s voice came through. “Si?”

“How are things looking over there?”

From where she was standing in her bedroom, Ibiza looked out the window, which gave her a full view of the terrace where their parents were dancing and roasting a pig.

“They’re still roasting the pig, but my papá is starting to bring food out, so you don’t have long.”

“Okay, said Olivia. “We’re finishing up here. See you soon.”

_Chapter 3_

_Christmas Day – 11:00 PM_

“Don’t move or I’ll shoot,” came Cincinnati’s voice from the other side of the room. Nairobi turned to look at him. He stood next to Ibiza and Havana, and like Mykonos, all of them wore red jumpsuits and carried a large, neon water gun.

Nairobi ignored this, moving towards him. “It’s water, _cari_ _ño_. Put that away.”

“I said I’ll shoot,” repeated Cincinnati, redirecting his water gun so that it was pointed towards the other children, rather than at the small crowd of adults who had now assembled in the living room.

Nairobi now realized that her daughters were each clutching something in addition to a water gun. In one hand, Ibiza held Sergio’s latest, not-quite-finished crossword puzzle – several sheets of thin note paper that would quickly be ruined if soaked by water. In the other hand, she held a thick stack of handwritten pages – part of a draft of Stockholm’s latest novel. And Havana, little Havana, held Nairobi’s favorite jacket, a one-of-a-kind designer piece made of the most buttery lambskin suede Nairobi had ever encountered. It would be ruined by water almost instantly.

Nairobi froze. 

“Hands in the air,” Cincinnati directed them.

Nairobi looked back at the other adults. They were sighing and shaking their heads, but slowly, they all put their hands in the air.

“Very good,” said Cincinnati. “Now sit down.” Begrudgingly, they all sat. “Myko, do the honors.”

One by one, Mykonos placed a pair of handcuffs on each of the adults. As he locked a pair around her own wrists, Nairobi shook her head at him. “ _Ay, mi cielito_. You’re going to put handcuffs on your mama? You know this won’t end well for you.”

“ _Lo siento_ , Mama,” Mykonos shrugged, clasping the handcuffs shut.

Nairobi sighed. “Where’d you get all of these?” she asked, flexing her hands to test that they were, in fact, locked in.

“In your nightstand, Mama,” said Mykonos cheerfully.

Denver started snickering in his trashy laugh.

“We only had one pair,” Nairobi pointed out, ignoring Denver.

“And Olivia’s parents’ nightstand,” he added.

Now everyone was snickering. “Pro _fes_ sor,” said Tokyo. Sergio was blushing visibly.

“How many pairs do you _use_?” Palermo asked Raquel interestedly.

“We break them sometimes,” Raquel shrugged. She gave Palermo a wink. Rio whistled.

“Where is Montreal?” Stockholm asked. Nairobi noticed now that she was, in fact, missing. So was Olivia.

“She’s busy,” said Cincinnati.

Then Ibiza spoke into a walkie talkie. “ _Profesora_?”

“Si,” they heard Olivia’s voice through the walkie talkie. “I’m here. Is it done?”

“They’re all handcuffed,” Ibiza reported.

“Very good,” Olivia responded, her voice static. 

“Cinci is putting the masks on them now,” Ibiza added. Sure enough, Cincinnati began going up to each of them and tying a cloth around their eyes. Over Nairobi’s face, he slid her own sleep mask, and Nairobi made a noise of irritation as the world went dark.

“Okay,” she heard Olivia’s voice again through the walkie talkie. “It’s time for Plan Olentzero.”

Nairobi sighed. “ _Por Dios_ ,” she muttered.

“Everyone,” Cincinnati addressed the room. “As you can see, we have taken you all hostage.”

“These are his Arturito genes,” Nairobi could hear Denver muttering darkly behind her. She felt Stockholm elbow him sharply.

“We have some demands,” Cincinnati continued.

“Demands my ass,” Denver continued muttering, seething.

“We’re happy to hear your demands,” Raquel spoke up, ever the negotiator. “We want to treat you all fairly.”

“Our demands are for Christmas presents,” Cincinnati went on. “We have a list here.” Nairobi heard a paper crinkling as if being unfolded. 

“Starting with myself,” Cincinnati narrated. “I would like a dirt bike and a new x-box for my bedroom. Ibiza says that she wants an iPad and also to get her belly button pierced.”

“Christ,” Bogota muttered.

“Olivia wants a treehouse for her yard, and also a cell phone. Montreal would like a trip to Paris and a horse, specifically a white one. Myko wants an ATV like tío Helsi’s, and a set of paintball guns. And Havana would like a pet dolphin to keep in the pool.”

There was a pause for a brief second. Then –

“Absolutely not –”

“A dirt bike? You’d kill yourself!”

“– you’re all _loco_ –”

“No way in hell –”

“– and with all we do for you!”

Raquel cleared her throat, and gradually they all quieted. “I think some of these demands will require more in-depth discussion,” she told the kids. “If you release us, I’ll talk to each of your parents about having that discussion tomorrow. Not everything on that list is out of the question.”

There were a few minutes of hushed murmuring from the children. Then –

“We want to have that discussion now,” Cincinnati told them finally. “These are better negotiating conditions for us.”

“Not if you want to go back in the pool before July,” Nairobi said threateningly.

“We’re open to a negotiation,” Cincinnati told them. “Let’s start with me, you’ll remember I asked for the dirt bike and the x-box.”

“You’ll get what we decide to give you and you’ll be grateful for it,” Denver said, still seething.

“Mm-hm,” said Cincinnati calmly. “Let’s pass that on.”

Ibiza spoke into the walkie-talkie again. “ _Professora_? We’ve begun negotiations. They’ve made the first counteroffer, to Cinci’s requests. The counter is: ‘You’ll get what we decide to give you and you’ll be grateful for it.’ What is our response?”

There was a beep. “That doesn’t work for us,” came Olivia’s electronic voice.

“That doesn’t work for us,” Cincinnati repeated.

Denver let out a stream of curses under his breath.

Stockholm shushed him. “How about just the x-box?” she offered.

“Don’t offer him an x-box in exchange for taking us hostage!” Denver interjected.

“It’s not an unreasonable request,” Stockholm argued back. “If we can compromise with them, maybe we can be done with this insanity.”

The two of them continued arguing for several minutes, until finally Denver conceded. 

“How about just the x-box?” Stockholm repeated.

Ibiza passed the offer to Olivia, who responded through the walkie-talkie that this didn’t work for them either, and that if a dirt bike wasn’t acceptable, they would have to come up with “an appropriate alternative.” And so Denver and Stockholm spent another five minutes arguing over what an appropriate alternative would be.

In the end, after nearly ten minutes of back and forth, it was agreed that Cincinnati could have an x-box and an ATV.

“Okay, so that’s settled,” said Cincinnati cheerfully. “Now onto Ibiza’s requests. An iPad and a belly-button piercing.”

“She can have them,” Nairobi said, shaking her head.

“No, she can’t,” Bogota interjected.

Nairobi had expected this. “Why?” she asked her husband challengingly.

“Because she’s nine-years-old! What does she need a belly button ring for?”

“What does she need holes in her ears for? We let her pierce her ears,” Nairobi argued.

Bogota sighed. “You know that’s not the same.”

Nairobi raised her eyebrows. “Oh no? And why’s that, ay?”

“Well, because it’s different,” Denver agreed. “You don’t assume things about a girl because she has her ears pierced.”

“And what are you assuming about girls who have their belly button pierced?” asked Tokyo.

“You know,” said Denver. “That they’re a little…fast and loose.”

All four of the women started arguing with him at once.

“He’s right though,” Bogota stepped in. “You may not like it, it may not be right, maybe the world would be a better place if he was wrong, but he’s right.”

“If she wants her belly button pierced, she can have it pierced,” Nairobi shot back. “If she doesn’t like it when she’s older, she can take the ring out and it will close up. No one is making assumptions about a nine-year-old anyway, she just thinks it looks cool. It’s only creeps like you two that have a problem with it.”

Once again, the arguing continued. By the time they had settled on an agreement (Nairobi won, Ibiza was to be allowed both of her requests), another twenty minutes had passed.

“Now onto Olivia,” Cincinnati continued brightly. “She would like the treehouse and the cell phone.”

Raquel and Sergio spoke for several minutes in hushed tones. Then Sergio spoke. “The cell phone is out of the question,” he said. “That’s a matter of safety. No cell phones. But a treehouse could be achievable if we can find a tree with enough structural integrity to support one.”

They passed this through to Olivia, who, unsurprisingly responded that this counteroffer was insufficient. Raquel and Sergio turned to each other again, whispering.

Then suddenly, the whispering stopped, and Sergio spoke up again, with a note of urgency. “This is a diversion tactic,” he said. “They’re deliberately stalling us. They know perfectly well that we would never agree directly to most of the requests on that list. They’re just buying time.”

The room was quiet for a moment.

Then Raquel spoke. “Tell Olivia that if she’s not standing in front of me in two minutes, she’s going to be grounded until she’s twelve.”

Ibiza spoke into the walkie talkie again. “ _Professora_?”

“ _Si_?” same Olivia’s voice.

“Time’s up. Your parents figured it out.”

“Okay,” Olivia’s voice responded. “I’ll be back there in a few.”

Five minutes later, Nairobi heard a pair of footsteps entering the room. Then Olivia’s voice came. “It’s done,” the little girl said. “Let’s unmask them.”

A minute later, Mykonos pulled Nairobi’s sleep mask off of her. She blinked for a second at the bright overhead light.

“Are you going to let us go now?” Stockholm asked the children.

“ _Si_ ,” said Olivia.

Nairobi shook her head, unsure how they could have thought any of this was a good idea. “But you all know you’re going to be punished indefinitely,” she pointed out skeptically.

Olivia shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. See, we think you’re going to want to stay on our good sides.”

“Ah, si?” asked Raquel. “And why is that?”

“Because we’ve taken all of your money,” Olivia said.

“Wait – what do you mean?” asked Denver, confused.

Olivia nodded, pushing up her glasses and smiling. “Your money. That you keep in the vaults below ground. The money you stole from Spain. We took it, all of it, and we’ve hidden it. So now, you all answer to us.”

A brief stillness took over the room as this sunk in.

Then Tokyo started laughing. Everyone looked at her.

“They stole a billion euros,” Tokyo cried, laughing so hard she was shaking. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long to update! I honestly didn't know how to end this, and then life started kicking me in the butt and I wasn't writing for a while. But then the image of Sergio explaining to his daughter how to pay bills popped into my head and this all just came out.
> 
> Better late than never right?

_One week later_

Sergio set a stack of envelopes on the kitchen table in front of a sullen-looking Olivia.

“Are you ready?” he asked her calmly.

“Yes,” she said, a hint of stubborn pride in her voice. Sergio couldn’t imagine where she’d gotten that from. Must have been Raquel’s side.

A week had passed since the children’s heist, and the money had yet to be located. After Palermo had found a wad of euros and a bit of vacuum plastic near the edge of the rainforest surrounding their homes, Denver and Bogota had spent the better part of the next few days digging for the money. The rainforest was now filled with patches of loose soil, and yet, the vaults remained empty.

Naturally, Sergio had very quickly thought up half a dozen schemes that would have forced the children to reveal the money’s whereabouts. They would clearly need to access the money at some point, and then it would just be a matter of tracking them. Basic surveillance could, he suspected, have located the loot in a matter of hours.

But he decided it was better to teach a lesson.

“This one,” he said, holding up the first envelope, “is electricity. This here is the name of the utility, and this number here is our account. You’ll need to get one of these from the other four houses as well, as we’re all on separate accounts.”

“Okay,” said Olivia.

“This one,” he said, holding up another envelope, “is cable. Our account number is listed here. And remember, this doesn’t include streaming services. Those are all on auto-pay, and come directly out of our bank accounts. Like I said, I’m going to introduce you to Pablo Mora – he’s our financial advisor in San Jose. He’ll take your deposits and walk you through our investment performance each month. We have accounts with UBS, Credit Suisse, and Banco Popular.”

Olivia kicked the table.

“This one,” Sergio said, continuing onto the next envelope, “is health insurance. This one is a bit complicated, so I opened it to show you.” He pulled out the wad of paper from the envelope. “See this number here? This is our monthly premium. So we pay that no matter what. Then this number here,” he pointed to another figure on the page, “that’s our annual deductible. Do you know what a deductible is?”

“No,” Olivia said grumpily.

Sergio smiled. “That’s okay,” he said calmly. “I doubt many nine-year-olds do. A deductible is the amount of money we have to spend before the insurance will start to cover our expenses. So, for example, say that this year, we spend fifteen thousand dollars on medical expenses. The first five thousand dollars, we have to pay out of pocket. Then the other ten thousand dollars will be covered by insurance. But only to a point. That’s where _co-pays_ come in.”

Olivia groaned.

**

“You know, at first I was angry with them,” Nairobi confessed to Helsinki. They were sitting on the beach in lounge chairs, enjoying a pair of daiquiris as the warm breeze wafted over them. “Then after that, I felt kind of proud of them, you know?”

Helsinki chuckled in agreement.

“But now,” Nairobi continued. “I think, _I could get used to this_.”

Just then, Mykonos appeared from behind them holding a plate with two ham and cheese sandwiches on it.

“I made your sandwiches,” he said flatly.

“Excellent, thank you _mi cielito_ ,” Nairobi said, taking the plate from him. “And do we have any of those lime fizzy waters?”

“Ibiza said we’re out of them.”

“Tell her to make sure she gets more of those next time she does the grocery shopping,” Nairobi instructed him. “Mm, and you know what else we need?”

“What?” asked Mykonos sourly.

“Those little fried peppers with the cheese. Jalapeños. What were they called again?” she asked Helsinki.

“Poppers,” he told her.

“Jalapeño poppers,” Nairobi instructed him. “See if you can get those, too.”

“Ma _ma_ ,” he whined.

Nairobi raised her eyebrows at him. “You know, I could do the grocery shopping if you tell me where you hid the money,” she reminded him.

Mykonos stormed away, sulking.

**

Denver, on the other hand, was not enjoying himself.

Nairobi had quit smoking nearly ten years ago, when she’d become pregnant with Ibiza, and she’d forced (a very unwilling) Bogota to go cold turkey along with her. In the weeks that followed, the two of them had been constantly at each other’s throats, but now, ten years later, they often talked about how much healthier they felt.

Raquel still smoked occasionally – a cigarette on a Saturday night with a glass of wine. But Denver reckoned it probably took her over a month to get through a pack at the rate she went. She couldn’t be missing them that badly.

But Denver was losing his mind.

“They _do_ sell to kids,” he was arguing with Stockholm for the third time that day. “Everyone fucking knows the gas stations sell to kids. I started smoking when I was younger than he is, you think I was just finding them lying around on the street?”

“We’re not sending my twelve-year-old son to go buy you cigarettes!” Stockholm snapped.

“Oh, so now he’s _your_ son?”

“When you want to use him to prop up your bad habits, then _yes_ , he’s my son!”

Denver slammed the table in frustration. “Monica,” he said desperately, pressing his hands together and trying to appeal to her. “Please. I’m going _fucking crazy,_ Monica.”

She just crossed her arms. “Well maybe you should have quit twelve years ago when I was pregnant and now this wouldn’t be a problem!” she said heatedly.

“You never _asked me_ to quit twelve years ago!”

“ _Do I always have to ask_?” she snapped in return.

Denver rolled his head in frustration. Here we go again. Back to _that_ argument.

“You never do anything unless I ask!” she fumed. “As if it’s my responsibility to tell you to do the fucking dishes!”

“ _Cincinnati’s_ supposed to do the dishes!”

“ _But I’m always the one who has to remind him_!”

“ _Fine!_ So I’ll remind Cincinnati to do the dishes!” Denver said, exasperated. “Okay? Can we ask him to get me a pack of cigarettes then?”

“No! Denver – _you’re missing the point_!” Stockholm yelled frustratedly. “It’s about more than that! You act like I’m in charge of the house, but it’s _your house too._ ”

“If it’s my house too, then _why can’t I have a fucking cigarette_?”

Cincinnati and Montreal sat on the couch in the next room, attempting to watch television.

Montreal looked at her bother anxiously. “Do you think they’re going to get divorced?” she worried.

Cincinnati frowned. “I don’t think so,” he offered. “I think Dad’s just getting testy.”

But he didn’t feel as confident as he sounded.

**

“This isn’t working,” Olivia said flatly.

The other children all nodded in agreement.

“My mom made me go to the store to buy toilet paper and butter yesterday, and when I got back, she told me we were _also_ out of laundry detergent,” Ibiza complained.

“My dad is about to blow a fuse,” Cincinnati confessed.

“My dad spent _two hours_ yesterday explaining _interest rates_ to me,” Olivia grumbled.

“So what are we gonna do?” asked Mykonos.

Olivia sighed. “I think we have to give it back,” she said dejectedly.

**

_January 6 th, 2030_

On Three King’s Day, Nairobi slept late. The sun was already high in the sky, visible off the shimmering water their bedroom looked out on, when she awoke.

She immediately felt a small twinge of guilt. Normally, the children would have shaken them awake by now, eager to go downstairs and see what gifts the kings had left for them. Nairobi loved it nearly as much as they did – having spent most of her life scraping and scheming to get by, being able to shower her children with presents gave her tremendous satisfaction.

But this year, she had been very clear with the children – there would be no presents.

“The kings don’t leave Christmas gifts for naughty children,” she had told Mykonos pointedly just a few days earlier. “And you’ve all been very naughty, stealing from your parents.”

“We’ll just buy our own presents,” Mykonos said, flipping through a video game catalogue.

Nairobi shrugged. “It’s not the same though, is it?” she observed.

Mykonos didn’t respond.

“Do you think the kings will get me a dolphin, mama?” Havana asked.

Nairobi sighed. “No, _cari_ _ño_. They’re not going to bring anything this year. Besides, you can’t keep a dolphin in the pool, angel.”

Havana had cried.

Nairobi rubbed her face as she sat up in the bed, wishing she could do something for the children today, even if they _had_ been bad. They were just _kids_.

She poked her sleeping husband. “Bogota.”

He grunted.

“ _Bogota._ ”

He groaned, rolling over to face her, squinting. “Yes, _mi amor_?”

“The kids didn’t wake us.”

“Well, there’s no presents this year,” he pointed out, rubbing his eyes.

“I’m worried.”

He yawned. “About what?”

“They’re going to think we hate them.”

“They know we don’t hate them.”

“Mm,” Nairobi hummed, unconvinced.

Bogota took her hand and met her eyes. “They know we don’t hate them,” he repeated.

Nairobi sighed. “Maybe we can make them a nice breakfast to make up for the lack of presents,” she said wearily as she tied on a dressing gown.

Bogota pulled himself out of bed and tied on a robe. “Come on then,” he said. “Let’s go make breakfast.”

Nairobi followed him downstairs.

They were greeted in the kitchen by several odd sights. For one thing, the three children were sitting calmly around the kitchen table, already eating breakfast. Even Cairo had been fed already. For another thing, there was a large manila envelope on the table in front of them, on which “MAMA & PAPA” was written in black marker. But the truly odd thing was the large stack of wrapped presents sitting on the kitchen island.

Nairobi looked at Bogota, confused, but he just shrugged, clearly equally puzzled.

“What’s this?” Nairobi asked the kids, looking at the pile of gifts.

“The kings brought presents for you and papa,” Ibiza said cheerfully, through a mouthful of toast.

Nairobi looked at Bogota again, still confused, but again, he just shrugged.

“These are for us?” Nairobi asked, amazed.

The kids all nodded eagerly.

Nairobi approached the stack of presents cautiously. She looked to the kids, raising her eyebrows as if to ask permission.

“Open them!” Havana giggled.

So they did.

For Bogota, they had bought a pair of shearling slippers, a new hammock, and eight pounds of premium imported steak and chorizo.

“Amazing,” he said, looking at the meat in awe.

“They’re going to give you a heart attack,” Nairobi snorted.

For Nairobi, they had bought a fantastically soft robe, a bottle of perfume, and a silver charm bracelet with a single engraved charm that said “Best Mama Ever” on it.

“It’s beautiful,” she cried joyfully as she opened it, immediately putting it on.

“And what’s this?” Bogota asked, reaching for the manila envelope. Nairobi watched over his shoulder as he opened it.

Inside was a single piece of paper with a string of letters and numbers on it. Nairobi frowned curiously. Was that…

“It’s the code for the vault,” said Ibiza. “We think you should check down there.”

Nairobi and Bogota exchanged glances.

“Are we rich again?” Bogota asked the children, raising his eyebrows.

They nodded.

“We all talked about it,” Ibiza said, “and we decided that having the money to ourselves wasn’t as fun as we thought it would be.”

“I hate making sandwiches,” Mykonos agreed.

“Yeah, and paying bills isn’t fun,” Ibiza added. “We were all getting tired of it. So we decided we didn’t need _all_ of the money.”

Nairobi raised her eyebrows. “Just…some of it?” she surmised.

The three kids shrugged noncommittally.

But she just laughed and hugged each of them. “I’m sorry you didn’t get presents,” she told them, feeling even guiltier than she’d felt when she’d woken up, and already planning a belated gift-giving in her mind.

“It’s okay,” Mykonos said. “We got ourselves some stuff.”

“Mm?” Nairobi asked. “What stuff?”

Ibiza giggled. “Check the pool.”

Nairobi looked out the patio door to the large swimming pool. At that moment, a dolphin flipped into the air.

She stared.

“What the hell?” Bogota whispered.

The kids just laughed.

“Merry Christmas,” they chorused.

Nairobi shook her head and pulled them into a hug. “Merry Christmas, _changuitos_.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, and if you enjoy, please comment to let me know!


End file.
